I'm Still Here
by ScarlettWoman710
Summary: It starts with an apology. That should have been it - closure for years of mistreatment, for Dick living up to his namesake, for the pain his brother caused them both. It should have been the end of their story. It's only the beginning. A Mac/Dick love story.
1. Prologue

**Title: ** I'm Still Here

**Author: **ScarlettWoman710

**Summary: **It starts with an apology. Not their history, that actually began way before the random trip to the beach that threw Mac and Dick together for an afternoon bonfire. Their history starts when they're five years old, when Cindy Mackenzie finds herself in the same kindergarten class as Dick Casablancas.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Veronica Mars. Also, this episode features some dialogue taken from episode 3:19, "Weevil's Wobble But They Don't Go Down."

**Spoilers: **Up through season 3

**Authors Note: **Hi all! This is not my first fanfiction, but my first in the Veronica Mars fandom. I loved the show when it first aired and got back into it this summer, thanks to the SoapNet reruns. While I didn't ship Mac and Dick the first time around, I did in my re-watch. I blame it on Ryan Hansen's beautiful face. ;)

Many thanks to my good friend **jandjsalmon** for serving as a beta on this. I'll do my best to update as frequently as possible. As this is the prologue, it's a little shorter than the other chapters. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

It starts with an apology.

Not their history, that actually began way before the random trip to the beach that threw Mac, Dick, Logan, Veronica, Piz and Wallace together for an afternoon bonfire. Their history starts when they're five years old, when Cindy Mackenzie finds herself in the same kindergarten class as Dick Casablancas.

He was beautiful, even as child, with blonde curls that he could never keep out of his blue eyes and plaid button down shirts always tucked into cargo shorts. He was nice then, but he had no reason not to be. Five years old was too young to understand what it meant to live in the 90909 zip code. They barely knew their house numbers, much less postal addresses. In Kindergarten, he didn't make fun of her or tease her or call her names, and he was always willing to share his blocks during playtime.

Things changed, obviously.

Clothes started to matter. People learned to recognize the difference between sneakers from Wal*Mart and sneakers from Nike. It started to matter what your parents did, if they worked for somebody else or if they were the person that people worked for. And then, when they were in seventh grade, somebody put a name on it - something they had picked up from an older sibling that went to the high school.

"09er."

It meant privilege and class and wealth. It meant being beautiful, thanks to the right clothes and hair stylists, dermatologists to handle unfortunate middle school acne, and a plastic surgeon to take care of bumps in noses and to shave down jawlines during summer vacation. Being an 09er meant summer homes and pool houses and vacations and big, fat sports cars with giant bows for your sixteenth birthday.

And though he only got more beautiful as he grew, there was little else left of the person Dick Casablancas used to be by the time he started his high high school career. Being an 09-er meant Dick never had to share his blocks. It meant Dick never had to share _anything._

Us. Them. Class lines were drawn, not in sand but it stone.

Needless to say, that was the end of Dick and Mac and anything that could ever be called friendship.

His brother on the other hand... now that was a different story.

Mac doesn't say his name, partly because she doesn't know which one to use. She compartmentalizes them into to different people. Cassidy was the one who made her laugh, who said sweet things and who held her hand at the carnival. The Beaver was the one who killed a bus full of their classmates. Cassidy kissed her gently as they lay in bed, too shy or scared to go any further. The Beaver was the one who raped Veronica. Cassidy got them a hotel room after graduation. The Beaver stole all of her clothes and abandoned her in the Neptune Grand.

She loved Cassidy. She hates the Beaver.

Still. Probably forever.

But even though it still hurts (she knows it's a wound that might never heal) she's trying her best to move on. She's got Max now, though she's not entirely sure how she feels about him. He's exciting, sure. Every girl's got to date a bad boy once in their life, right? And he's pretty - with wide eyes and easy smiles. Beyond that she's got to admit that there's not a whole lot between them. But hey, who says a relationship built on wild sexual chemistry isn't built to last?

She's thinking about Max and where it is their relationship is headed when she makes an offhand comment about Wallace's plan and thrust, not realizing how laced with innuendo her statement was until after Dick had acted like... well, a dick, _again,_ and she huffs off to join Wallace when she hears someone calling her name behind her.

She tries to ignore him, but her legs are short and Dick walks much faster than she does.

"So, I know you and I haven't always been like, best buds or whatever," he says, giving an exaggerated gesture and sloshing beer from an oversized can out onto the sand. "But, do you want to know why?"

"Not really," she says dryly, but slows her pace a fraction so that Dick wouldn't need to jog to keep up with her.

"It's because you were so smart, you and Beav," he continues, either not noticing or choosing to ignore her obvious lack of enthusiasm for this conversation. "And I figured you could tell that I was an idiot. So, like, I figured the best defense was a good offense."

He reaches for her shoulder to still her, spinning her slightly towards him. She glares at his hand before letting her eyes meet his, skepticism etched in the flat set of her eyes.

"The way I treated you and Beav was totally uncool," he says sincerely, hand still resting on her shoulder. "And I'm totally sorry for all those things I said."

She's taken aback, to say the least, but there's nothing but honesty in his expression. And though she wants to hate him (and a part of her does, simply because there's too much history between the two for anything less) she realizes for the first time that as much as she's suffered at the hands of "The Beaver," the only person who probably has an inkling of the pain she's gone through is the brother that gave him the nickname he so despised. And because she's never been the kind to kick a person when they're down (that's usually Dick's M.O.), she throws him a bone.

"Yeah, okay," she agrees, her expression impassive. "Accepted."

"Cool," he says, relief evident in his tone. "You're so cool. I get it now, what my brother saw in you."

And then he closes his eyes and leans in to kiss her.

Leave it to Dick Casablancas to think that anything less than an outright profession of hate is a sexual invitation. She only has time to roll her eyes and shove his face aside to prevent contact. Regardless of whatever Dick had planned, the conversation is over, she decides, giving him one last withering glare before walking away. Dick, tactful as ever, only huffs out a laugh and calls out after her not to tell Logan.

As she makes her way down to Wallace, she's surprised to find that she's having difficulty suppressing the smile on her face. Not because Dick tried to kiss her - she's certainly not interested in wherever his mouth has been, and any intimate contact with Dick would require a hazmat suit and a post-interaction silkwood shower - but because she's remembering the boy in Kindergarten that was always so eager to share his blocks. Maybe he's still in there, somewhere. Maybe there's hope for Dick Casablancas yet.

That should have been it. Closure, for years of mistreatment, for Dick living up to his namesake, for the pain his brother caused them both. It should have been the end of their story.

It's only the beginning.

It starts with an apology.


	2. The Best Laid Plans

**Authors Note: **Glad a few are reading and enjoying! Hope to keep you all happy. Now that we're getting underway, further updates will be about two weeks apart. Also - I of course have read the guidelines and hope I'm rating this accordingly. Over in the AHS fandom, this would be a solid T... language alone isn't usually enough to push it all the way to M, but it seems like things might be a bit more conservative over here. This story is already outlined, so to be on the safe side, I'm bumping the rating up to an M. I hope you continue to read. And as always, continued thanks to my beautiful beta **jandjsalmon**, who helped keep everybody in character.

* * *

Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck. This is not how Dick Casablancas's summer was supposed to go.

Two months ago, Dick had outlined his summer itinerary. He _was_ planning on taking his own personal surfing world tour. Hawaii, Mexico, Peru, Costa Rica, then hop across the pond to South Africa and finish up in Australia. He'd even bought a new board for the occasion. It would have been fucking sweet, riding gnarly waves all day, drinking all night and picking up some random chick in a bar so that he didn't have to sleep alone.

Dick hates sleeping alone. He has nightmares when he's alone.

Then his dad shows up, suggesting "family time" or some shit. Dick's not into it. It doesn't make him feel better, it only makes him feel worse. He was a shit older brother. His dad was a shit father to him and Beav... Cassidy both. But he gives in, because his dad's the only family Dick's got left. His mom has a new family in London, complete with 2.5 stepkids and a bevy of nannies to make sure she never has to actually spend any time with them.

It's harder hanging with his dad then he expects, but it opens his eyes to a lot of shit. In his dad, he sees the kind of dude that he never wants to be. He's got to make some fucking changes in his life, man. The realization is enough to get him to stop drinking to the point of blacking out and to stop being such a massive douchebag to the kind of people he normally would have been a jackass to, but that's it.

Still, it's progress, right?

So, summer surf tour is out. Big deal. He still has Logan and the beach in Neptune, a suite to have bitchin' parties in that he doesn't have to clean up after, and a handful of Phi Sigs and the house to keep him occupied. Most importantly, he has freedom - sweet, glorious freedom, and three whole months of it. The previous summer had been entirely monopolized by grieving Cassady and spending time in a drunken stupor. A year later, he's still not done with the whole "grieving your mass murdering baby brother" bullshit, but he's gotten to the point that he can actually, like, function or whatever. He can manage to eat and sleep and bathe himself and get himself from point A to point B, especially if point B is a party or the bed of some blonde, thin coed. So, it's already a massive improvement over where he was a year ago. He's still rich, thanks to a trust fund that had been untouched during his father's trial combined with a huge inheritance from his grandparents that he'd gotten as a result of the being the only living unincarcerated heir. He might have to spend more time than he'd like with his asshole father, but overall shit could be way fucking worse.

He's contemplating exactly how he wants to spend another summer night of freedom as he plays video games in the suite with Logan, who's clearly not paying attention.

"Dude, I'm like, totally kicking your ass," he says gleefully.

"No shit," Logan mutters under his breath. "Sorry, I haven't practiced as much as you. I actually went to class this year."

"Why?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "Because I get off on the smell of dry erase markers," he says, tossing his controller to the ground and leaning back on the couch. "Or, you know, because I actually want to do something with my life instead of surf, get drunk and play video games with you."

"Again I ask, why?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot who I was talking to for a second here," he says, grinning. "Need job. Need school to get job," he says in an exaggerated Neanderthal voice. "Need to become actual adult."

Dick scowls. He hates when people call him stupid. He's not, not really. It's just that he can't make himself care about shit if he doesn't find it interesting. He knows it's a low blow, but he says it anyway: "Need to impress Veronica Mars," Dick mimics, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Logan's face falls. "I thought we weren't going say the V word," he says, heaving himself off the couch and walking to the fridge in the kitchenette to get a beer, snapping the top off with an opener on the counter.

"Well, you stop acting like she's got your balls in her unicorn cookie jar, I'll stop talking about her," Dick said, spinning in his spot and dangling over the back of the couch. He takes in Logan's pitiful expression. "Dude, you've got to call her," he says in an exhasperated voice. "You're fucking miserable without her. I mean, I'm like, hardly president of the Ronnie fan club or whatever, but you guys are like fucking magnets or some shit."

"Magnets actually repel each other Dick, but thanks for your insight."

"Fine, then one of you is a magnet and the other is steel. Whatever. You think you can't live with her, but you can't fucking live without her, either."

Logan sighs. "Even if I wanted to call her, she's too busy playing Scooby Doo in Virginia."

"They had F.B.I. agents in Scooby Doo?"

Logan's mouth opens, then closes, lips quirking up in a grin. "You're a prince, Dick. Don't ever let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

Dick shrugs and flops back over the couch. Ronnie had bailed shortly after school ended to take an internship with the F.B.I - right after she broke up with Piz. The fact that she dumped the emo wannabe was all the evidence Dick needs to know that she really wants to be with Logan. She's just waiting for him to make a grand gesture or something, because that's how their relationship works. They don't just talk about shit like normal people, they show up in the middle of the night completely drenched during a thunderstorm to make out in doorways before stumbling to a bedroom, a couch, hell, a fucking wall that they could neck each other against. The last time it'd happened, Dick had been tempted to play "In Your Eyes" from his phone and hold up a lighter in the background, but had decided against it. He knows Ronnie still carries that taser in her purse and he doesn't want to be on the business end of it. Anyway, Logan and Ronnie are predictable as fuck and he knows it won't be long before she's taking up residence in their suite again, cracking jokes and hanging all over Logan.

Logan sighs again and sits next to Dick, handing him a beer. "I dunno, man. Maybe I'll talk to Mac when she comes over tomorrow, see what she thinks."

Dick sputters on the sip of beer he'd been drinking. "Mac's coming over tomorrow?"

"Yeah. We gotta talk Rate My Ass."

"Well, I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to give you at least a seven, but you'd have to talk to a chick to get a real opinion."

"We're talking business, dipshit," Logan says, grinning. "And just so you know, these cheeks are absolutely a ten." Dick grins and then falls silent, peeling the wrapper from the glass between his fingers.

So. Mac's gonna come over tomorrow. Interesting.

Dick's feelings about Mac are... complicated.

This is the thing. Back in sixth grade, before all the 09er bullshit started to matter, Dick had a bit of a crush on Mac. She was cute, all curly brown hair and big doe eyes. He used to call her Bambi, because she reminded him of the chick deer from that movie - not to her face, obviously, but in his head. He liked that she was smart and said funny things underneath her breath when she didn't think anyone was paying attention. Not too long after that, obviously, shit changed and he realized it would be social suicide to be seen with her. Yeah, it made him a huge asshole, but it wasn't like Mac ever wanted anything to do with him anyway. Still, whenever he saw her after that, he'd get a little smile on his face and say "Bambi" in his head.

And then she started hanging out with Beav- _Cassidy, _ and Dick was more than a little jealous. He liked her first, why should his little brother get to have her? He kind of hated everything right then. He hated Mac for choosing his brother over him (not that Mac even knew that Dick was an option, anyway), he hated Cass for taking the girl he wanted, he hated the whole fucking school for being the way it was and for making it matter which zip code somebody lived in. Most of all, he hated himself for being so goddamn chicken that he couldn't say fuck the bullshit and just ask the girl that he really wanted to be with him. He got over it, because that's what he does - he's Dick. Shit doesn't get to him (or it least, it didn't used to). He acted like a total tool to Cass and Mac to cover up his feelings and tried to fuck as many girls as possible in the meantime, because _fuck them. _It didn't matter. It wasn't like Cass and Mac were going to get married, or anything.

Then Cassidy died. And everything changed.

Dick started drinking. Boy, did Dick drink. And he acted like a total douche to Mac, because her face and those huge blue eyes only reminded him of Cassidy and all the things he'd taken from Dick. He took Dick's innocence, he took Dick's parents (because they went from neglectful to downright nonexistent after the "incident, as his mother calls it), and he took Dick's heart.

And he'd taken Mac, too.

He's knows what a fucking asshole he's been, and he apologized at the beach a couple of weeks ago, but he's pretty sure he fucked that up, too. She was just looking at him and it all came rushing back and he tried to kiss her, because he's an idiot and his Bambi's always had that effect on him. He wasn't thinking, just _feeling_, which is something that he's had a lot of trouble with ever since his baby brother took his sixteen story swan dive off the roof of the Neptune Grande.

Anyway. He doesn't know if he wants to _be_ with Mac or anything. God, he's not a fucking chick, he doesn't examine his feelings that deeply. What he does know is that every time he sees her he gets dumb fucking _girly_ butterflies in his stomach and starts obsessing about shit like if her hair is as soft as it looks or wondering how her fingers would feel laced through his and whether her lips tasted like the mint gum she always chewed or the cherry lip gloss she kept tucked in her purse.

"Dude, Earth to Dick," Logan says, snapping his fingers in front of Dick's face. "I've been trying to get your attention for like, five minutes now. Did the wheel brake down?"

"The wheel?" Dick asks, confused.

"Yeah, the little wheel that the hamster runs on in your brain," Logan says with a smirk. "I told you to go down to the front desk and get our mail. It's your turn, I did it yesterday."

Dick scowls at him again. "You're being mean today," he pouts, letting the controller slide from his lap to the floor.

Logan pushes a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know," he sighs. "I'm sorry, Dick. I'm just... I'm not in a good place right now."

"'It's alright," Dick says easily. He knows why Logan's not being himself. The boys got a fever, and there's only one cure... unfortunately, his prescription is all the way in Virginia. Not that he's going to say that, or anything. Because avoidance has always been the name of Dick's game, he pats Logan's shoulder and raises himself off the couch, heading towards the door. Once he makes it out of the suite, he lets his mind drift back to Mac and how things are going to go when he sees her tomorrow for the first time since he stupidly tried to kiss her. Could be awkward. No, _will _be awkward. He's just got to play it off, act like he was just fucking around. That could work, right?

He's not paying attention to what he's doing or where he's going and it's not until he's flipping through envelopes and finds one addressed to him from Herst college that he finally snaps out of it.

Shit. This can't be good.

He'd gotten his grades online a week ago. They were okay, he guesses. Aced the one class he actually went to on a regular basis, Principles of Management I (hey, he hadn't been in FBLA for nothing), solid C's in Intro to Communications, English 101, and Computation Lab I. The only bummer was that he'd flunked Calculus, large in part because he stopped going after he had no fucking clue what was going after the first four classes.

He tore the paper open, letting the envelope flutter to the floor as he read.

_Dear Mr. Casablancas,_

_ We regret to inform you that we cannot, at this time, enroll you in Principles of Management II or Strategic Management for the fall semester. Calculus I is a prerequisite for the above courses. Your grade of a "D" in the Spring semester of 2007 is insufficient and does not allow for your advancement in the fall semester._

_ If you wish to remain in the Business Management major, we suggest that you enroll in Calculus I in summer session. You must receive at least a "C" as your final grade in order to complete the requirements for the next courses in your program. _

_Regards,  
__Haley Jones  
__Administrative Assistant, Hearst Business Department_

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Of course. Of fucking COURSE this had to happen. The cherry on top of his shit sundae. No surfing in Costa Rica, forced to spend time with his asshole father, and now summer school for fucking _Calculus_. And as much as he wants to blow it off, he can't because contrary to popular opinion he does give a shit about the direction his life is taking. He wants to graduate and do _something _with his life, not just fuck around all day, and business is the only thing he's ever been good at. It's like, in his blood, or whatever. He can't get kicked out of the program, and watching Logan and Ronnie and Mac graduate without him (_again_)would be too fucking much.

So. He's going to summer school. Fucking Christ.

He storms back into the suite and throws the rest of the mail on the bar. He's not sure where Logan went to, but he really doesn't give a fuck. Logan's a good friend - his best friend - but he the last thing he wants to do is talk about the latest thing to go wrong in his life since everything got fucked up a year ago. He grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels off the counter and slams the door of his bedroom behind him, off to drink away the latest thing in a long list of things that have put his summer completely in the toilet.

* * *

The first thing that registers is pain.

There's a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes, one that gets worse when he rolls over and faces the sunlight streaming through the window.

"What the fuck," he mumbles, burying his head deeper into the pillow. He thinks about staying there for a minute, but the second thing to register is nausea. Waves of it grip his insides and he's stumbling to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach and one expensive bottle's worth of Jack Daniels into the toilet.

He rubs his eyes blearily and leans against the cool porcelain of the toilet. His head is throbbing, but he knows he has to get up - at least to get an Advil, some gatorade, and a shitload of breakfast. And then, even though he'd rather shove needles into his brain, he has to go register for fucking _summer school._

Lame. So, so fucking lame.

He staggers out of his bedroom, wincing at the sunlight streaming in through the huge windows that line the suite. "Logan, dude, you wanna go get breakfast?" he calls, bumbling his way to the kitchen and groping blindly in the fridge for a gatorade. "I wanna go to that diner down by the beach, they had those sweet egg sandwiches."

Silence greets him. He pops his head up from where he'd been resting it against the cool of the refrigerator. "Logan?" he calls, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

Nothing.

Logan doesn't sleep late - not unless Ronnie's here with him, and most of the time they're not exactly "sleeping" by this point in the morning. He heads towards Logan's room, pressing the Gatorade against his sweaty skin. He reaches for the door, saying as he opens it, "Logan, dude, how are you fucking still sleep-"

He abruptly stops speaking.

Logan's gone.

Resting on his made bed is three binders, topped with a note. He skims it, frowning.

_Dick -_

_Went to Virginia. Gotta go win my Scooby Doo back. Give these to Mac, it's the shit for Rate My Ass. Tell her I'm sorry and that I'll catch up with her when I get back._

_- Logan_

And that's it. No "I'm sorry for leaving you alone, Dick." Nothing.

"Thanks a lot, shithead," he grumbles, crumpling the letter in his hands, trying to ignore the faint prickling behind his eyes because he's _not _a fucking girl and is not going to start crying. In the back of his head, he can't be too mad at him - Logan will always put Ronnie above anyone or anything else. Dick knows that. It's just that he's alone, and Dick fucking _hates _being alone. He buries his head and his hands, trying to press the pain throbbing behind his eyelids back through the other end of his skull. He's gotta get his shit together. He's gotta power through this hangover so he can go register for fucking _summer school _before he waits around for his former crush, his dead little brother's ex-girlfriend. Fucking _perfect._

"Worst. Summer. Ever," he mumbles, and heaves himself off of Logan's bed to go take a shower.


End file.
